A Fitting End
by bibliobibuli17
Summary: Bellatrix. Neville. Their final battle. And gum wrappers? [M for violence and some language]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. -pout-

This is a based on a bunny I found by **Cat Feral** – both the title and the ending are hers. I unfortunately cannot lay claim to the genius of it all. –sigh-

This fic is rated M for violence, mainly in this chapter, and has 3 bad words, all in the last chapter. It's about 4800 words, so not too long. I hope you enjoy! Oh - and thanks, shabd and Narya, for looking it over! (And I hope this meets your expectations, Feral!)

This fic is written for Moose's EC for TFC, a site you should definitely check out : http:// thirdcorridor. proboards60. com/index. cgi (without spaces)

If you join say satire referred you! I will love you forever. -glomp!-

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She kneeled transfixed, watching the muggle involuntarily writhe in agony. It was beautiful, the play of muscles spasmodically clenching all over his body and tendons standing out in his neck. His face was flushed, and blood dripped from his mouth where he'd bitten off his tongue early on. It lay roughly a meter away now; in his oblivion he was continuously moving. Each scream was accompanied by a spatter of blood, emerging with the exhalation of breath that came with his vocalized pain.

His voice was long ragged, and nearly gone by now. His hands clenching with the tightening of muscles, nails digging into his palms, resulting in those being slick with blood as well. Judging by the growing puddle of the substance around him, he would expire soon. Biting off his own tongue had ensured his fairly quick death, as none of those present felt it worth the time or energy to heal him. There were plenty more muggles for the Death Eaters to entertain themselves with.

Bellatrix felt her mouth water at the pain displayed before her. The Cruciatus Curse was her favorite, mainly because of the powerful beauty the pain inflicted caused. She loved pain. It was sharp, bold, and intense. It was eternal, and there were so many ways to entice it from the body, mind, and spirit. The power she held in the position of tormentor was pure ecstasy; seductively, erotically addicting. There was only one thing to lament at the moment…it was not her wand casting the curse. She was not in the revered position she equated to being one of the gods.

However, it was her Lord that was, and that was the next best thing.

So Bellatrix observed through fanatic eyes full of bloodlust, salivating, as the muggle on the floor went rigid for a scant moment before all muscles relaxed. A sure sign the filthy thing had run out of its entertainment value. Pity, really. This one had been particularly good.

Voldemort gave a low, indistinct sound of amusement before casting _Incendio_ on the carcass. Bellatrix – insane, hardcore sadist till the end – tilted her head back and closed her manic eyes as she savored the delicious scent of burning flesh. Inferior as the flesh itself was, the smell that permeated the chamber was of triumph and power. It foretold of conquest, and was intoxicating.  
Vaguely she heard her Lord's sibilant, liquid voice and brought herself back to the present.

"My dear Death Eaters…as pleasurable as it has been to hold this revel, it has not been for naught."

There was brief shifting as the Death Eaters looked at each other, but otherwise there was complete silence in the chamber.

"I've a mission to be put into action this evening," the Dark Lord continued, and Bellatrix felt the tingle of excitement low in her stomach. The intensity of the atmosphere seemed to increase as her colleagues' anticipation rose.

Noticing the unblinking eyes in the masks, and sensing the collective holding-of-breath all in the chamber were engaging in, her Lord chuckled. In her place kneeling to the right of his seat, Bellatrix shivered at the seductive menace in it.

Taking note of it, the Dark Lord expressed amusement once again before reaching over to caress the long waves of her dark hair. Looking at her bowed head, her Lord stated his approval.

"Dear Bellatrix, always so eager. I did not allow you to engage in your favorite activities this evening, and I had a purpose in such. Watching, unable to indulge in your own savage yearnings, has pulled you taut and readied you for the battle that is to come. You will be all the more feral and vicious, my loyal pet. When you and your peers have completed this successfully, I will allow you several of your own muggles to do as you wish with."

Eyes gleaming with the possibilities available to her with such a gift, Bellatrix moved to kiss the hem of her Lord's robes. He was the only one she bowed to, and she was completely devoted to him; he ruled her, and she would give him anything he wished. Bellatrix purred in anticipation as she crawled back to her designated spot, where her Lord's hand returned to its petting of her hair. Leaning into it, she listened as he once again addressed all present.

"We have already claimed the Ministry - we shall now take St. Mungo's. To lose another battle so soon after the loss of the Ministry, even though the prize may seem so unimportant, will result in our opposition losing all hope. This is the last major alteration. They lose, and they will lose their fighting spirit…

…leaving them at our mercy."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Me no owny, which me no likey.

Credit to **Cat Feral** once again for the title and the ending - and this is written for Moose's EC on TFC! Link to site at top of Chapter 1! Nothing to warn you about for this chapter, just a bit of fluffiness.

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Neville Longbottom sat beneath a tree at the side of the lake, watching as ripples in the water disturbed the pristine image of the moon on its surface. There was a light breeze, and he listened as the leaves above him, colored by the arrival of fall, rattled. He'd been spending a great amount of time out here - one of the only places left that cast a decent illusion of peace, seemingly untouched by the war that had been raging for the past year and a half.

Ever since Dumbledore had been killed, Voldemort had been doing as he willed with no fear of opposition. Half of wizarding England had been taken over, and Voldemort was growing bold enough to venture into neighboring countries. Unbeknownst to him, however, Harry Potter and those who had been present at the Department of Mysteries two and a half years ago had been tracking down the last Horcruxes and searching for ways to destroy them. It had started as just the trio – Ron, Hermione, and Harry – but after much persuasion (in the form of following them around and nagging), Luna, Ginny, and he himself had joined them. It had taken the group a year after that to round up all the Horcruxes, meeting once a month with the Order to stay abreast of happenings in the way of Voldemort. The Order had attempted each meeting to coax what Harry Potter was doing from his lips, but Harry had stayed silent. Luna, Ginny and Neville himself still didn't know what the Horcruxes were, only that it was crucial they were found and destroyed in order to eliminate Voldemort. They speculated amongst themselves, and had various theories, but never did they pressure Harry (or even Ron or Hermione) for information. The three knew Dumbledore had sworn Harry to secrecy and respected that.

Maybe after the war Neville, Luna, and Ginny would be filled in on the Horcruxes; the three knew that Harry trusted them, but it was incredibly important Voldemort have no idea what they were up to. This, they knew – felt it was common sense, actually. So, they didn't pressure those in the know and did their best to be of help when it came to what they were privy to.

Harry _had_ told Neville about the Prophecy, however. He'd pulled Neville aside one night approximately 6 months ago and told him everything he knew. Neville had been shocked, and dare he say appalled, at the claim. He'd been very quiet the next few days as he contemplated, and became accustomed to, the revelation. It's not every day one finds out they were nearly slated to be a Dark Lord's most hated enemy, and as such the only one who could vanquish him.

Neville accepted it now, but he never failed to shudder when acknowledging what might have been. It seemed almost a betrayal to Harry to say so, but he was incredibly grateful it hadn't been him Voldemort had chosen in his self-fulfillment of that cursed Prophecy.

Now, sitting and gazing through the moonlit night, Neville was scared. Everyone was. Hermione, and occasionally Snape when he could get away from his 'duties' elsewhere, had spent the last three months looking for a way to truly dispose of the Horcruxes. Snape they'd only seen four times, but a variety of owls (to assist in anonymity) stopped by Harry's room in the castle often. Harry, mindful of that anonymity, never replied.

The first time they'd seen Snape, he'd explained everything to Harry - including the Unbreakable Vow and how far in the loop Dumbledore had kept him, which fortunately turned out to be entirely. Harry, being as stubborn as always, had initially refused to believe, and Hermione had had to spend many an hour reasoning with him. One didn't stick by such petty rivalries in war, however, and Snape and Harry were both wise enough to acknowledge that...eventually.

As slow in coming as that wisdom was, Snape and Harry now had a somewhat working relationship. They were all aware, though, that no love was lost between the two.

Snape's presence was another secret from the Order, which was why the Order headquarters had been moved to Hogwarts. Snape knew about Grimmauld Place, and Hogwarts had not been in session since Dumbledore's funeral. It was, sadly, fairly convenient for those who weren't aware of Snape's situation. Those that were had to play they weren't.

As a result of the teamwork of the six students and Snape, the Horcruxes had all been destroyed a scarce week ago – other than Voldemort himself and Nagini, of course. Unfortunately, it hadn't been before Voldemort's attack on the Ministry. That had been a little more than three weeks ago, and the Order had lost, badly. There were few casualties, mostly thanks to those skilled in healing and the Death Eater's dislike for quick deaths no matter how beneficial they were. There were many grievous injuries, however, and a multitude of the Order had spent the last few weeks recovering.

Their morale wasn't so easily restored.

With the Horcruxes destroyed, they were just waiting for Voldemort to make a move. They needed a large one, as many Death Eaters there as possible, so when their master died it was a simple matter of casting an anti-apparition ward to keep them all in one area. They were waiting on Snape.

Neville sighed, leaning his head back against the tree. He wouldn't lie – he was scared, nervous, and nearly certain he was going to die.

Hearing the crunch of fallen leaves from his left, he looked over to see his girlfriend of a year walking toward him. Luna was gazing at the ground, seemingly mumbling to herself as she strode toward him. Smiling gently, Neville waited for her to draw closer before speaking.

"Luna, what are you doing out here?"

She glanced up, her eyes that were always so full of dreams and imaginary worlds gazing into his own. "I could feel that you needed me," she said, pausing before adding, "…and the three-horned warblesnouts were closing in."

Neville, grinning at the charming quirkiness he loved so, patted the ground next to him. She sat, leaning her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. It was quiet between them for a few moments as she played with the blades of grass below her fingertips. He gazed silently down at her, drinking in what he could see of her face to hold in his memory. The breeze caused strands of hair to dance smoothly around her face, the moonlight on her pale complexion and light hair making her look almost otherworldly for a moment.

"Do not worry so, Neville. I cast a warblesnout repellant charm."

His amusement dancing in his eyes, Neville kissed the top of her head before returning his gaze to the water. If they both lived – and the thought of her death caused a sharp pain to reverberate through his chest – life would never be boring with Luna Lovegood.

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Some time later, as Neville was dozing in that area between worlds where the sounds in the real are incorporated in that of the dream, a bright silver light startled him awake. Harry's patronus, a large stag, was standing in front of them. Snorting and scuffing a hoof, it waited for Neville's acknowledgment before racing off back to where Neville assumed it came from – the castle.

He nudged Luna awake. Not seeming to need any explanation, she started for the castle. Neville walked next to her, mind going a mile a minute and fright causing his heart to beat madly.

Harry had sent his patronus.  
Their moment had finally come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** If only it were mine. If only if only, the things I could do... -dreamy-

The end is here, which is **Cat Feral's**! How I wish I could claim it as my own...still written for Moose/Smokey/Smoose! See the link at top of Chapter 1...trust me, if you're reading HP fanfiction you'll love this site!

A few bad words, and some suggestion of violence.

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Neville waited, tense and ready to spring, behind a bed in a patient's room. There hadn't been enough time to evacuate even half of those housed in the building, and Neville shied away from wondering whether his parents had been one of the few who'd been taken to Hogwart's dungeons.

Snape had said Voldemort would be in attendance. With how poorly the battle for the Ministry had gone for the Order, he apparently felt that he would be in no danger in a battle for a building holding patients. Neville, knowing that Voldemort was in no way aware the Order would be here, couldn't fault his logic. Truthfully, taking St. Mungo's would be greatly beneficial to Voldemort. He'd control the best healing center in all of England, if not the wizarding world.

Deciding that thinking about such discouraging things was not beneficial to his cause, Neville turned his thoughts to his defense. Working a year and a half with Harry, in addition to the DA in fifth year, had left Neville fairly competent when it came to defense. He'd obtained hours of practice in their escapades. He was more confident, more prepared, now...but he was still up against seasoned Death Eaters, and he was aware of his limitations.

He, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Elphias Doge, and Remus Lupin were all assigned this floor. The Order had been spread out over different rooms on different floors, ready to spring out on the Death Eaters. They were ensconced in occupied rooms, in hopes of keeping the Death Eaters from killing those who hadn't been evacuated. The patients themselves they'd cast sleeping charms on. His room was near the end of the hall, near the stairs to the next floor.

Hearing the footsteps of multiple people running down the hallway he was in, Neville's thoughts directed themselves at the environment. Doors slammed open, and he heard the voices of his allies and the Death Eaters shouting in pandemonium. The voices and steps moved closer, colored light flashing frequently. A shadow moved over the crack between the door and its frame before it was blown apart, shards flying about the room and landing on the patient of unknown identity in the bed. Jumping up, Neville aimed and fired –

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The Death Eater dodged the spell before firing a red hex at Neville. He, not bothering to even attempt figuring out what it had been – it didn't matter what a Death Eater cast, you wanted to avoid it anyway – ducked and rolled on the floor so he came up at the end of the bed. The Death Eater had moved their way around the opposite side of the bed, and now Neville was nearest to the door. Hoping to draw the Death Eater out of the room, he cast a quick "_Glasius_!" before stepping closer to the door. The Death Eater began to stalk toward him, simply moving out of the path of the spell, and recognizing the strut Neville paused.

"P-professor?"

"Shut up, you imbecile! Do you wish to alert everyone to the fact that I am a traitor?" came Snape's voice from behind the mask.

"No, Prof-"

"Did I not say shut your trap, you bumbling idiot? Now use the very little competence you are in possession of to make this look as real as possible!" Snape snarled, before throwing another nonverbal spell at Neville.

Neville ducked. Even though it was an ally in disguise he was dueling with, he figured it would probably be best if he were to still avoid all spells thrown at him. He himself hadn't quite mastered nonverbal spells, despite his improvement.

Backing out the door, he and Snape traded a volley of harmless spells (at least, Neville assumed Snape's nonverbal ones were mostly harmless) until they were both in the hallway.

At that moment, Neville heard the anguished cry of what he thought was Doge. Wincing, knowing there was nothing he could do now, Neville counted him as a man down.

He saw out of the corner of his eye as Remus ran from his room at the other end of the aisle. He watched as Remus turned sharply back around and shot a binding spell at the unwitting Death Eater that tore out after him. Casting _Petrificus Totalus_ for good measure, Remus turned back to face them.

The Death Eater from Doge's room chose then to appear. Seeing Neville and what he thought was his fellow Death Eater dueling, the nameless Death Eater aimed at Neville. He never got the chance to cast, however, as Remus had come up behind him. Giving this Death Eater the same treatment as the first, Remus then aimed for Snape – though, even if Remus had known who it was, it wouldn't have made any difference after the events in sixth year.

Snape, seeing this, turned from Neville to duel with Remus. Kingsley ran out of his own room, apparently having dispatched his own Death Eater. He glanced at Remus briefly to ensure he was holding his own, then grabbed Neville by the arm to drag him toward the stairwell. Kingsley had blood soaking through his right shirt sleeve and singe marks on his pants.

"Come on, Longbottom, stairs! All the fighting is in the lower levels!" Kingsley shouted, tugging at Neville's arm. Neville had been lagging, wondering whether he should stay to make sure Remus and Snape didn't kill each other.

Snape would probably try to talk to Remus. Remus was reasonable – maybe he would listen.

At that thought, Neville followed Kingsley willingly to the stairs. They crashed through the stairwell doors, running down two flights. Neville almost fell once, but he managed to catch the handrail.

They hadn't intended to stop two flights down – they were headed for the main entrance, which Kingsley said was where the fight between Harry and Voldemort was – but they saw the Death Eaters through the glass on the doors; the Order hadn't gotten to this floor in their evacuation attempt, and the Death Eaters were having 'sport' with the patients. Neville felt himself go pale, and nausea roil in his stomach at the little he could see going on through the glass. He looked to Kingsley and watched as his face contorted into an expression of disgust and rage the likes of which Neville had never seen. Without a second thought, Kingsley blasted the doors open with a curse and began to fling spells in every direction – and he didn't bother with the easy, mostly harmless spells Neville stuck with. He was a trained Auror, and was authorized to use the Unforgivables in certain situations.

Watching as Avada Kedavras flew from Kingsley's wand, Neville figured this was one of those situations.

All the Death Eaters - about five in total - had dropped their toys when Kingsley had made his presence known and turned to face their enemy. They seemed to mostly disregard Neville, who was standing partially behind Kingsley. Having determined through a cursory glance that none of the victims on the floor were his parents, he was doing his best not to study the scene any further.

All disregarded him – all but one, that is. A high-pitched maniacal laughter flooded the hallway when the owner spotted him, one Neville could place anywhere after the Department of Mysteries. How likely was it that the one person he hated, with all his soul, was on this same floor instead of with her master?

Hearing his parents' torturer's laughter instantly froze Neville. He stood for a moment. He wasn't sure at first he could confront her, but then he thought of his parents...what they'd gone through at the hands of that bitch. A seething fury filled him. His parents didn't even recognize him when Grandmother brought him to visit. Sometimes he thought it might be worse, to have parents alive yet not know who their child is, rather than dead watching over that child. There were times he wished his parents hadn't survived, so they wouldn't have had to live with the consequences of _her_ 'sport' with them.

Feeling the hot, churning anger in the pit of his stomach, face twisting into an expression that communicated his anger to the world, Neville strode toward the woman at the other end of the hallway.

_Bellatrix Lestrange_.

She stood, an insane light shimmering in her eyes, as she fondled her wand and watched his approach. Kingsley had already dispatched two of the Death Eaters and was dealing with the others now, expertly dodging their curses before returning the favor. The two Death Eaters ignored Neville as he walked past them, knowing Bellatrix wanted him to herself. Another Longbottom for her pleasure - it seemed she had a fetish.

Watching for his reaction, she brought one hand covered in blood up to her face and licked, before humming in approval. Neville ignored her antics – he knew she was trying to unsettle him – and raised his wand. Feeling the anger running so deep within him, letting it consume his mind with the true hate he felt for this, this thing - this _bitch_ - Neville cast it as she looked on in amusement.

"_Crucio_!"

She hadn't expected it to work at all, not even the little that it did. It was nothing compared to that of Voldemort's, and one _does_ have to truly mean it to get the full effect; nevertheless, Bellatrix found herself twitching on the floor for a scant few seconds. She didn't, however, cry out, and was up almost as quickly as she went down.

"Awww poor wittle Neville! Lost his mummy and his daddy, tortured into insanity by big, naughty Bellatrix," she mocked him in her typical high voice. Neville's hand clenched on his wand, still pointed at her, and hers pointed at himself.

"What's wittle Nevvie gonna do? Is he gonna cast again on poor wittle me? Should naughty Bellatrix tell him how his parents twitched, and bled from their ears and noses? How blood vessels popped in their eyeballs? How the smell of their urine and shite filled the room? Should she, wittle Nevvie?" she cackled, eyes nearly glowing with pleasure.

Face flushed, heart beating frantically, Neville forgot his wand altogether and charged her. Not expecting this, Bellatrix was unprepared for the entirety of his weight - reinforced a dozen times over by the irrational, overwhelming anger that motivated him - to slam into her. She was thrown into the wall, a sharp crack coming from her frail, Azkaban-nurtured body. Unfortunately, her wand stayed within her grasp.

She hacked, a drop of blood sliding to her chin from one corner of her mouth.

Glaring at him, she cast a blasting curse. Moving aside easily, he didn't take into account the wall behind him. The wall took the blasting curse, and in response a large chunk of it crumbled, bringing part of the ceiling on his side of the hall down with it. He heard Kingsley shout from his end, but a dense cloud of white dust had risen throughout the area, blocking out visibility and muffling sound. Right before a falling piece of the ceiling glanced off of his head, Neville heard a scream of pure, primal rage, accompanied by sounds of a scuffle.

Then all he knew was darkness.

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Gods, but his head hurt. It throbbed, sending pulses of pain from the left side of his head (which seemed to be where the source of pain was located) throughout the rest of his skull, down into his neck.

He groaned, and the previous chattering that had woken him quieted.

He tried to move a bit, but feeling the nausea any jostling of his head caused, he decided to stay put. Moments later, Hermione's hesitant voice was heard near his right side.

"Neville?"

He opened his eyes. The light incited quite the protest in his head, and he quickly shut them. He felt a soft, feminine hand slip into his left, and knew it was Luna's. He'd know her anywhere.

Then Madam Pomfrey was there, asking him to open his mouth and pouring potions down his throat. The pain in his head dulled dramatically, though it didn't completely disappear – his nausea, however, did.

"Ok, dear, I think you're okay now," Madam Pomfrey said when she'd finished, helping him to sit up.

Once he was situated, he ventured to open his eyes again and was greeted with the sight of Ginny, Ron, and Hermione to his right (between his and Harry's bed), and Luna standing on his left, holding onto his hand and for once looking as if she was fully aware of her surroundings. She was gazing at Neville worriedly, and he smiled at her to reassure her. The look in her eyes calmed a bit as she smiled back.

Neville then turned his attention to the rest of those in the room. Sprout, McGonagall, Vector, Lupin, and most of the rest of the Order seemed to be surrounding Snape down at a different bed, nearly at the other end of the ward. Snape looked quite frightening with the scowl he was directing at all those badgering him. Neville could only assume they'd been told the truth, and were now attempting to get details and answers to their own questions regarding the whole situation. The rest of the Weasleys were around a different bed not far from the Order, listening in on the conversation going on at Snape's bed. They were sitting by an injured Fred.

There were several others occupying the hospital ward, but Neville didn't recognize most of them. All the color and moving objects in the room were hurting his head anyway, so he turned his focus back to the people at the right side of his bed.

They were watching him, concern shining on their faces, and Neville felt warmth travel through him. He really had the greatest friends.

"Hey guys," he said, and was confused to note that his voice was strained and scratchy. Seeing the look on his face, Hermione answered his unspoken question.

"You've been in a coma for a week, Neville."

Neville's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "What happened?" he asked.

"Well," started Ron with a goofy grin on his face, "Harry met Voldemort at the entrance of St. Mungo's, marching in all cocky and –"

"No, Ron, not now. I'm tired of hearing it – we can tell him later. I think he meant more along the lines of what happened to him, anyway," stated Harry tiredly. "I'm sure he can see we won, and that's all that really needs to be said for the moment."

Actually, Neville did want to hear about what happened with Voldemort, everything about the Horcruxes, and ask all the questions he'd been burying for the last year. On the tail of that last thought, though, he realized…he'd waited a year, what were another few days? Harry really did need a break.

So, Neville just nodded.

"You were hit with a rock on the head, Neville," said Hermione softly. "Kingsley saw you get hit before the rest of the wall collapsed to the side of you, blocking off his view of you and Bellatrix."

Neville nodded again, careful not to move his head too much. He had a very vague recollection of that - that, and a scream of such ferocious rage…

"And Bellatrix?" Neville asked, feeling that old anger stir up in his stomach once again.

"She choked to death," Ron said. Seeing Neville's bewildered look, he went on, "It looked as though the thing was physically shoved down her throat – at least, that's what Kingsley said. It was far enough down that she wasn't able to get it out in time and suffocated. When he cleared the wall away, there was just you and that insane woman's body."

Harry caught his attention then. His face was a weird compilation of sadness, bemusement, and pride. Hearing that vocalization of pure fury echo in his head again, clearer than before, Neville thought he might know where Bellatrix had been going when he'd met her on that floor of St. Mungo's. The floor that he'd traversed so often, the floor that held Ward 49. What he'd so mockingly referred to as her 'fetish'.

"What was it?" Neville asked, his voice hesitant. "What was in her throat?"

The same mixture of emotion present on Harry's face was evident in his voice, though the pride more so than the others, when he answered Neville's question.

"A large wad of gum wrappers."

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Just in case you don't remember, we learned in the fifth book that every time Neville visits his parents, his mother gives him gum wrappers. A few people didn't get the significance there...

Also, you WERE forewarned that Neville's parents were on that floor, in a roundabout way - he checked to make sure that they weren't any of the victims when they first got there. After all, the Order hadn't gotten to that floor, had they?


End file.
